


Latent

by SmutKeeper



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Cock Warming, Consensual Somnophilia, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Genital switching, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25875181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutKeeper/pseuds/SmutKeeper
Summary: Crowley suspects that Aziraphale has a somnophilia kink and tries to tempt him into acting on it.Fill for the Good Omens Kink Meme.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 447
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme, Ixnael’s Recommendations





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this prompt on the kinkmeme.](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=2980697)

Aziraphale liked sleeping, Crowley was sure. Or, if not sleeping himself, at least the calmness and routine surrounding it. Crowley had come to this conclusion over the course of many shared nights, starting from centuries ago; moments stolen from sessions spent drinking that lingered too long, or during times when being alone was unimaginable, and perfunctory arguments were conceded in favor of companionable quiet.

But Crowley was also getting the suspicion that there was more to it than that.

It wasn’t exactly like Aziraphale was any good at hiding what he wanted from Crowley. He never was, and that was in part because he didn’t want to be, and even more largely in part because Crowley didn’t want him to be. And since Crowley didn’t want him to hide it, and was in fact actively seeking to prove his point, Aziraphale really didn’t have any chance at all of pretending otherwise.

And yet.

Crowley stretched out on their bed, slowly, languidly, in a way he knew the low light would accentuate his narrow chest’s rise and fall. Discreetly, he tucked his face behind his own arm so as not to give away the ruse too soon. The sheets rustled when Aziraphale shifted to accommodate his husband’s gangling sprawl, more than accustomed to this nightly shuffle. He wouldn’t think anything of Crowley encroaching on his side of the bed, pressing up to his side in a bid for more warmth, which is exactly what Crowley was counting on.

After several minutes of patient waiting, listening to Aziraphale’s breathing and the steady turn of pages, Crowley’s feet bunched in the duvet, pulling it down towards his hips. The movement was not in of itself notable, but what it revealed was another matter entirely. Sleek silk sleep bottoms were drawn tight around his erection, dampening the fabric. Anticipation hummed like an electrical charge beneath Crowley’s skin. Aziraphale had stopped turning pages.

The moment lengthened, growing heavier. Crowley barely had to play up how much Aziraphale’s attention intensified his desire. And now, for the last bit of incentive. His mouth parted around a small, needy moan, followed by the slightest roll of his hips.

An uptick in breathing. A shaky exhale. Aziraphale definitely was enjoying what he was seeing. Now if he would only take the initiative and...

“Crowley? Are you awake?”

Not willing to give up so soon, Crowley remained still and kept his breathing measurably calm. Silence. Then, the bed dipped, Aziraphale coming closer and blotting out the soft lamp light. It took an enormous force of will for Crowley not to open his eyes to see what Aziraphale was doing. The weight settled on either side of him; Aziraphale leaned over. Crowley could feel the warmth of his breath on his skin.

“I know your game, my dear. You won’t be tempting me into this.”

All right, it was worth the shot. Crowley sighed his displeasure and blinked fully awake. Aziraphale was smiling at him, exasperated and fond, and more than just a hint of pink to his cheeks. Love welled in Crowley’s chest at the sight.

“You could, you know. I wouldn’t mind,” Crowley said, a subtle rock of his hips making his point.

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “I mind,” he insisted. He pressed his weight against Crowley, just long enough for him to bestow a kiss to his forehead before departing. A whine followed him as he crawled off the bed entirely and began putting on his slippers. “I think it’s about time for me to get up. I have some categorizing to do before I open the shop. Would you like for me to make your coffee?”

Crowley, having resigned himself to this fate, rolled over on his stomach to burrow deeper into the heated space Aziraphale’s body left behind. “I wanted to stay asleep, and that’s just what I intend to do.”

“Then I best leave you to it, shall I?”  
  
Crowley quirked a smile. “I know a way that’d help me sleep a lot better.”  
  
A chuckle. “We’ll talk more on it later. Sleep well, dear.”

* * *

“There’s a sanctity to sleep,” Aziraphale said. He’d said it because Crowley had brought it up—had even agreed to help Aziraphale with reorganizing, so long as they could talk about it—which he’d done because he hadn’t thought this whole _thing_ of Aziraphale’s would be a point of any contention. It ended up being just that.  
  
“There is not,” argued Crowley, affronted at the thought. He passed along the book Aziraphale was reaching for, though in a very aggrieved fashion. “It’s necessary, at best, and a sin at worst; sloth. And to everyone aside for yourself, it’s just a nice way to pass the time.”

See, the theory had been that having literally slept together, let alone metaphorically, for a fair bit now, that it wouldn’t be that much of a leap into blurring the line a little. Both parties wanted to. It should have been an easy temptation. That Aziraphale thought there was a moral high ground worth vying for in this situation was laughable.

“Because it’s done every day doesn’t mean it loses its importance. There’s rituals to it, and, of course for the humans, it is for rejuvenation and health. It brings wellbeing; bodily, emotionally, spiritually. It’s the same as sharing a meal in the sense that it’s common but sacred. Only, you wouldn’t sleep next to any person you broke bread with.” He paused in his reshelving, gaze drifting to the side. “There’s vulnerability. And trust.”

“I don’t eat at the most of times, Aziraphale, but I’ve fallen asleep near you more times than I can count.” He nudged the bookend so that spines sat snugly upright.  
  
Aziraphale fixed him with a crooked smile. “And it’s an incredible honor to be able to hold your trust so. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Oi, none of that. We’re past that—and you know better. I never would have fallen asleep anywhere near the enemy, if I’d ever considered you such. So, ergo, _I trusted you_. And you did deserve it. Never woke up from a kip with a holy blade in my chest, or already more than six feet under and with discorporation paperwork to fill out.” Wistfully, he added, “Not even a rude drawing on my face. Lost opportunity on your part, that.”

But Aziraphale just turned to him with such solemnity that Crowley’s levity sunk like a stone in his chest. “My dear, you know how very much you mean to me. I have not always done right by you, but I can promise that in this regard, I would never take such advantage.”

“Not even though I want you to?” he asked, fully aware of his petulant tone. Crowley’s face felt hot. He looked away from those earnest eyes by randomly pulling and reshelving the closest books on the next row, hoping to busy himself and block out the embarrassment and affection both. Wasn’t even marginally successful. Aziraphale patted his shoulder pityingly.

“Your desire to indulge me in mine is far too prevalent. You mustn’t trouble yourself so at my behest. Please, do not ask for me to treat you unfairly.”

“That’s not at all what this is and you know it,” Crowley insisted, though he could tell Aziraphale’s mind was already made up on the matter. “It makes me just as happy to make you happy. ‘S not a crime now, is it? Thought that was the whole point, you know. Of our side.”

Aziraphale sighed, but closed his eyes while he thought. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I dunno, it’s—well, it’s just for us, isn’t it? I like that we can just, you know, do something because we like to, not because it’s right or not. I went about it the wrong way before, but I’m not trying to tempt you against your will. I just like not needing a reason to do something to make you happy.” All this honesty was making his skin crawl, truth be told. But as no immediate dismissal followed his confession, it was a chance worth taking.

Quietly, hesitantly, Aziraphale admitted, “I know you only wish to make me happy, dear. And… and I know that you are aware that causing you any distress would hurt me, as well. Perhaps, I should also consider that as much as you may trust me, I also need to put my trust in you. Is that about right?” Crowley didn’t speak, but nodded hopefully. Aziraphale nervously twisted the wedding band on his finger. “I will think on it more. Will that suffice for the moment?”

“Depends,” Crowley said, his smile disarming and pleased. “Does this mean I can now be let off from inventory duty?” More than just wanting to be away from the stale air and dust motes, he was feeling more than a little rubbed raw. He got the sense that Aziraphale was feeling much the same, and could use the space to gather his thoughts.

Indeed, Aziraphale gladly released him from his post with a fluttery wave, and then immediately began to pull the books Crowley had moved in order to organize them in a more deliberately absurd manner. He’d be at it for a while yet, Crowley mused, which suited him just fine.

He would gladly wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Originally, Crowley thought he’d worked out a plan of how he’d tempt Aziraphale into giving in. It began with draping himself seductively over nearly every available surface, in varying states of undress, and taking a very dedicated approach to selective narcolepsy. Needless to say, it hadn’t taken much to throw a wrench in it.

After their talk, he stopped trying to tip Aziraphale’s hand at admitting to anything, let alone doing something about it. It wasn’t any fun tempting Aziraphale into something he didn’t actually want to do. Not that Crowley was by any means convinced that was the case, but he was willing to ease off the subject until the time in the future where the angel could be more receptive to that sort of persuasion. They had that now; time. No more stealing moments.

So, what had actually happened was that a few days later, Aziraphale was meant to be somewhere on the first floor of his shop. Supposedly he was looking for a book that would prove his point about the satirical nuance of poets given the chosen iambic pentameter, and Crowley held no illusions that he’d do anything but become engrossed in rereading and would thus be a while before he remembered himself enough to return. Such was the way of things.

Unperturbed, he’d nestled in on the sofa, heels of his boots on the arm of the chair and somewhat caught in the blanket strewn there, and dug out his mobile. Inside the bookshop was warm and comfortable, but outside it had begun to rain, and the rhythmic patter of droplets on the glass cast an air of subdued lethargy. Aziraphale was still wandering about, occasionally shuffling books on shelves and taking soft steps. Crowley scrolled through his news feeds and email, glossing over the information without absorbing any of it.

And that was all he remembered until he woke up.

He hadn’t intended to fall asleep and thus was sluggishly confused when the angel finally returned to the back room. His limbs were heavy and slack, and he waited languorously for his time basking to be brought to an end by either a sharp comment or the pointed removal of his feet from the arm of the sofa. When neither interruption came, his suspicions began to arise. Aziraphale was being quiet, trying not to disturb him. And on the periphery of his senses was something else.

Lust.

Crowley was now entirely awake, and incredibly thankful for his own forethought in keeping on his glasses. Was this really happening? Would Aziraphale really play along this time? The tempter part of him wanted to play up the scene further—a scratch to the stomach that conveniently lifted the hem of his shirt, or the casual shifting of a knee to further display the spread of his thighs—but it obviously wasn’t needed. Just simply being as he was was doing it for Aziraphale, and Crowley was determined to let this happen on its own.

But by _someone_ did he wish he could open his eyes.

Aziraphale was still just watching him. It probably should have unnerved Crowley more than it did, but you get used to it when you’re the only partner who sleeps. The difference here was the anticipation and intent. Any other time Crowley had felt such heady rises in lust, Aziraphale always took himself away, and Crowley never let on that he knew. With the cat out of the bag, the expectation had changed. No reason to pretend it wasn’t doing something for him.

Crowley’s blessed heart was jackrabbiting in his chest, and it was going to give him away. Hoping that Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to sense it, he forced his corporation to quiet and relax, which brought the unintended side effect of actually making him genuinely drowsy. Well, bully for him, then. His breathing deepened and a sigh escaped. Aziraphale took a step closer.

“Yes, just like that, dearest. Stay just like this for me.”

A shuffle followed which preceded the warmth at Crowley’s side; Aziraphale had kneeled beside the sofa. Crowley did just as he was bid and remained still. Even up until Aziraphale began to touch him.

Those fingers ghosted over the fragile skin of his throat, his clavicle, and along the edge of his shirt collar—but did not sneak beneath. Instead, they traced over the front of his chest before coming to rest just under his ribs. There they stayed, hot and present and possessive, rubbing soothingly. Some hindbrain instinct in Crowley reared at this; his soft underbelly on full display. And then it clicked. That was the whole point.

Aziraphale was breathing harder, head turned away so that Crowley didn’t feel his breath on his skin, but could hear clearly the soft moans that danced amidst them. Unable to deny his overbearing curiosity, he dared the slightest parting of one eye. He needn’t have worried.

Aziraphale’s face was ruddy flushed, and his lips a blooming, bitten red. His half-lidded eyes were focused on the curl of his fingers on Crowley’s stomach, and the way it rose and fell with each breath. His other hand wasn’t visible from Crowley’s vantage point, but the rhythmic movements of his arm between his legs bore no mystery.

“You wonder, so sweet, so trusting—just for me. Oh stay, stay, please.”

Even if he thought that far ahead, Crowley didn’t think he’d have had much luck in preventing the way his body reacted to Aziraphale’s pleading. It was strange to be so calm and so turned on in equal measure. Like his entire body was pulled under a warm tide and leaving searing coals in its wake.

Aziraphale’s fingers curled in Crowley’s shirt, making the muscles of his stomach jump. “Oh, oh, Crowley,” he delicately cried, “you absolute gift. You’re safe with me, my love. Let me keep you. Let me—let me— _ah!_ ”

Aziraphale’s hand flew to his mouth to stifle his moan while he shook apart. His brows pinched together in pleasure and his eyes were tightly shut. Taking advantage of his distraction, Crowley’s tongue darted out to scent the air. Aziraphale’s release was heavy-sweet and addictive, feeding to the fire building inside him. He watched as Aziraphale’s partially-hidden hand between his own thighs continued to work and prolong his orgasm, and his own prick throbbed in sympathy.

When at last the final aftershocks of it had passed, Aziraphale collapsed. He took little care to not jostle the cushions as he rested his head upon them, so Crowley took just a little caution in maintaining the illusion. He placed his hand upon Aziraphale’s head and pet his errant curls while his husband’s breathing calmed.

He cleared his throat compulsively. “So. Needless to say, I—you— _we_ liked that. Think we might do it again?”

Aziraphale laughed in exhausted agreement. His clean hand reached out to fondly pat his sternum. “We might just.”

Crowley bent over to kiss the top of his head. “Fantastic,” he enthused. Then he laced his fingers with Azirphale’s and not-at-all-discretely directed them down to his aching effort. Aziraphale gave him an indulgent squeeze, and moved to continue to show Crowley exactly how appreciated he was.

All in all, Crowley was left feeling pretty pleased with the success of his plans, intended or not.

* * *

Floating. Crowley was floating on the giddy waves of pleasure and adoration, rocked to the tide of Aziraphale’s hips. He was sprawled out on their bed with Aziraphale above him, within him, and with Crowley holding him close while his own stomach shuddered. They’d been at this for hours already, and his limbs felt leaden and sore in the most satisfying way, and Aziraphale was showing no signs of stopping.

Crowley’s eyes drifted shut, exhaustion taking its hold and him following willingly. He held Aziraphale in the loose ring of his arms so that his face pressed into Crowley’s neck. Nails scraped softly through sweaty white hair. Kisses were bestowed to Crowley’s shoulder, his throat, the hinge of his jaw and all tingled like sparks on his skin. They drifted up to his ear, kind and warm, with a question to follow.

“Are you tired, love? Do you want to stop?”

That was the absolute _last_ thing Crowley wanted, actually. Legs hitched higher around Aziraphale’s waist, keeping him from drawing away, and Crowley wound his fingers to cradle the angel’s skull. Even ground his clit against him for good measure.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” Crowley demanded. “You promised you’d give me as many orgasms as I wanted.”

Aziraphale laughed breathlessly and the vibrations shook Crowley to his core. The resulting clench of his pelvic muscles caused Aziraphale to abruptly thrust in pursuit of his own pleasure. Opportunity made itself an opening. Crowley shuddered and let his head fall back upon the pillow.

“I fear you won’t last for another. We can always continue this later.”

“Don’t want that. Want another now. And I want you to have one, too.”

“Then are you going to stay awake for me, hm?”

Crowley grinned smugly. “Nope.”

His ankles had already been locked behind Aziraphale’s back in preparation for this declaration, which turned out to be a wise move. The angel had no room to withdraw as a result of his shocked jolt.

“Crowley.”

“Hm?”

“You don’t need to do this for me.”

“Mm. Know that too.” He let one golden eye slant open, just to be able to see Aziraphale’s desperately searching expression. “C’mon, angel. What, you think I’m going to oppose to the sex we’re _already_ having?”

“I—well, I suppose not…”

“Exactly. Now, back to it.” He smiled wide and finally let himself relax fully, even detangling his legs, which Aziraphale lovingly lowered. His gentle hands ran over Crowley’s flanks, coaxing him to settle still. “Just keep it nice and slow. I know you can make me come without waking me.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered, sounding gutted and reverent. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Know you will,” Crowley assured. “Trust you to.”

No longer trying to keep himself tethered to the moment, Crowley let himself begin to drift. His cunt still throbbed with desire, but he felt apart from the need that drove him to seek satiation. Aziraphale’s hands roamed over his skin, warm and unhurried, keeping him receptive to their presence on his body while his mind slipped further away.

Crowley lost sight of the shore, keeping anchored to reality only by the sensitivity of his skin and the ache between his legs. Aziraphale had slowed his hips, gentle, gentle, but long and deep. One of his hands traced a well-known path from Crowley’s lips to his chest, forefinger and thumb catching on his nipples and teasing them with assured, but not jarring, pressure. His other hand took the lower road, much to Crowley’s delight. _At last_.

Azirpahale’s fingers dipped to where they were joined, running along Crowley’s lower lips that were parted to welcome him. They played there for endless moments—time to Crowley was spilling liquid and intangible—until the slick of him dripped from each fingertip. And then the first brush teased the apex of his sex.

Crowley sighed and simply allowed Aziraphale to explore. No urgency or insistence, just basking in the attention. His cunt pulsed and squeezed Aziraphale in an automatic response to his touch. Each time he focused in on Crowley's clit he would circle and torment the sensitive flesh until Crowley's legs began to shake and he clamped down hard Aziraphale's cock; but then, soon as completion neared and alertness threatened to broach Crowley's mind, Aziraphale would back off and return to running his hands over his body. Until the building tension melted and he was once again pliant and still.

The last threads of consciousness slipped away from Crowley entirely. He let each strand go with only idle consideration. Somewhere beyond the veil of sleep Aziraphale’s words were encouraging him, praising him, but all he knew was calm, and heat, and love, and that was all that mattered now anyways. Maybe it should have mattered just a bit more to him, that his own satisfaction seemed second to the obvious enjoyment Aziraphale took in this, but he simply wasn’t bothered. He was being adored. And he was happy.

Carried off by the sweet lullaby of Aziraphale’s pleasure, Crowley fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will be a +1 scene from Aziraphale's point of view!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> +1 from Aziraphale's POV, and a small bonus at the end.

“Oh, come on, angel. We’re far past the point of plausible deniability. You have a kink; one I would be most willing to indulge you in, so what’s there to worry about? Now,” he leaned forward on his elbows, leering at Aziraphale who laid stiff as a plank beside him on the bed, “tell me exactly how you imagined it.”

Aziraphale nervously drummed his fingers on his pyjama-clad stomach and did not meet Crowley's eyes. He said, "The reality of the situation has far exceeded any half formed fantasies I might have harbored."

"Ooo, fantasies, plural!" He grinned. "Do go on."

Aziraphale flushed and sighed. Crowley would get his way, by some means or another. And it wasn't as if what Aziraphale wanted was entirely new to either of them, at this point, so surely there could be no harm in sharing. "If I tell you," Aziraphale further hedged, "it is my hope that you understand that they're not instructions for you to fulfill, or that I would ever attempt to enact them."

"Without my wholehearted consent. Yes, yes, I know your terms."

"You have not put nearly enough thought into this."

"We've already talked about limits. You won't cross them, so let's at least have a _little_ fun, eh?" He bullied closer to Aziraphale's side and fixed him with the full weight of his golden gaze. "I think you vastly underestimate how good it felt for me, too. Being under, only distantly aware of my surroundings, but so very, very aware of the pleasure you were giving me, and how safe I felt in your arms." He shivered in pleasant recollection, laying it on thick. "Better than any dream."

Enraptured, Aziraphale reached out and found Crowley's hand. Their fingers entwined. "Was it, truly?" he asked.

Crowley hummed in affirmation. "I felt so content and full. So loved. You know I trust you, Aziraphale."

Such an open, honest declaration from him was many long months and failed starts in the making, but culminated here, now, while trying to wheedle a dirty fantasy out of his reluctant lover. It wasn't like Aziraphale could do anything but fold and reward him.

"You menace," Aziraphale bemoaned, to Crowley's obvious delight. "Yes, fine. I may have had the passing fancy of another way you could have indulged me in this manner." He closed his eyes, face feeling heated and rosy, and hoped Crowley couldn't make out his embarrassment quite so easily in the low light. "I imagined, first of all, that you hadn't gone to sleep excited, as you were, but rather that I came to you while you slumbered. That I held you, and touched you, and you became aroused by hand."

"Sounds pretty great to me, but also pretty similar to what we've done before." He cocked his head to the side, assessing. "Is there more to it?"

Aziraphale faltered. "Yes, you see, the difference is that I had envisioned a different sort of—of configuration for us, as things progressed."

"Configuration? And by that you mean… oh. Oh, yes, yes, a thousand times over, yes!"

Aziraphale couldn't help but release a startled laugh. "You didn't even give me the chance to explain!"

"There's only a couple different ways you'd have possibly meant it and I want _all_ of them," Crowley said with jubilant assuredness. "Don't tell me any more. I want to find out for myself when I wake up."

"You'll do no such thing!" Aziraphale huffed, but he said it by means of laughter, and Crowley's triumphant smirk meant he knew he'd already won. "Besides, it's not like you have ever managed to sleep through what we have done, let alone what I had thought to do."

"Do you want it like that, when I wake up to what you've got planned?" He asked it without suggestion, just mild curiosity.

Aziraphale's breath hitched, but after a pause he shook his head. "That's not how I'd imagined it, no."

Crowley wriggled more fully beneath the duvet and settled. "Then don't worry, I know how to sleep deeply. I won't wake up until one of us wants me to," he promised.

Aziraphale pulled back his own corner for the duvet and joined Crowley under it. "You spoil me, you know."

"Not nearly as much as I want to," Crowley said, and pulled him close. "It won't take long for me to fall that deeply asleep. But feel free to take your time. It may take just a bit to, er, cool my ardor. If you don't want me to be, you know, _excited_ at the start of this."

"And are you? Excited by this?" Aziraphale asked.

"Oh, you haven't the slightest idea."

Aziraphale kissed him, and then buried his sheepish smile in the juncture of Crowley's neck. "I believe I just might," he said. "Sweet dreams, my dear."

A chuckle. "Have a good night, angel."

They laid together in encompassing silence. Aziraphale hugged Crowley close to his side and carded his fingers through his short red hair. Their breathing slowed, steady and sedate. When Aziraphale was sure that Crowley was well and truly under, he let his hand trail down the side of Crowley’s neck, thumb resting over his pulse.

“Are you still with me?” Aziraphale whispered, and watched Crowley’s face attentively for the slightest hint of wakefulness. As expected, there was no reaction at all. Aziraphale graced him with a thankful kiss to the lips.

Body feeling over-warm and heart over-full, Aziraphale pulled back to give himself room to begin. To start, he kept his hands sweeping across the planes of Crowley’s bare chest as it rose and fell. Aziraphale petted and soothed him in the indolent way that Crowley so rarely had the patience for, but that Aziraphale craved to give him. The steady thump of his heart was the metronome by which the angel played his part. His hand came to rest in the curve just above Crowley’s hip, and the drawband of his sleep pants.

Beneath the blanket, Aziraphale couldn’t see if Crowley had succeeded in calming down; if even he were wearing that sort of effort. And the reminder of the fact that he had needed to do so—because he was _excited_ at the thought of this happening—had Aziraphale closing his eyes and breathing heavy. Arousal was a molten pit at his core, igniting his blood and flaring bright. He allowed his hand to slip lower down between Crowley’s legs.

There, Aziraphale was delighted to find Crowley’s cock, soft and vulnerable in the cradle of his palm. So perfect and trusting, and Aziraphale could hardly contain how honored Crowley made him feel. He kissed Crowley’s throat again as the rush of emotion welled higher. A gentle squeeze, and Crowley sighed. Aziraphale reached down to touch himself.

They hadn’t discussed the specifics before this, at least not in terms of efforts. And in all honesty, it didn’t much matter to Aziraphale what he would have found beneath Crowley’s sleep pants. Still, it required a slight change of equipment for himself, and that was far from a complaint. He couldn’t have been happier to get the chance to be allowed this way, this time. And maybe, just maybe, Crowley would be gracious enough to allow this to not be the only time. _All of them_ , he’d said. Aziraphale prayed for that to be true.

The newly formed vulva that Aziraphale bore was already wet to the first touch of his fingers. As he parted those lips with patient care, massaging the sensitive flesh within, his other hand played over Crowley’s length. The crown he knew to be especially sensitive, if given enough attention, and so Aziraphale gave it in spades; interspersed with strokes up and down the shaft, tracing over the warming skin and awakening his interest. Crowley remained soundly asleep, only the slight parting of his mouth giving any indication of affectation.

Wetness was rapidly flowing down Aziraphale’s fingers and into his hand. The sound of his own ministrations was obscene in the quiet of their bedroom, even muffled as it was underneath the heated press of the duvet. He whined out a moan when he first pressed into the damp cavern of his entrance. Inside he was already so sore with wanting, and he dared not explore too far lest he succumb to the need so soon. Crowley wasn’t even hard. That just wouldn’t do.

Making up his mind, Aziraphale drew his hands away and shimmied out of his night clothes entirely. Once bare, he carefully drew back the duvet so that Crowley’s front was exposed, and the slight swell of his cock that distended the front of his pyjamas. He very carefully drew the hem of them down to his thighs.

Wet fingers reached out and traced along the flare of the head, only just light enough to suggest, nothing promised. A graze over the slit, again, then down along length and a cheeky detour to caress Crowley's bollocks. His length gave a hopeful twitch, and Aziraphale's heart leapt in sympathy. Unable to resist, he continued to divest Crowley of his pyjamas entirely, arranged him comfortably on his back, and settled himself between those welcoming long legs.

Kisses were given to the top of his cock, chaste presses meant to tease while his arousal-slick fingers held his shaft. Each time Aziraphale made contact he would hold for a little longer, linger over the glands and breathe in his scent, and then exhale as he withdrew. Over and over he repeated this, until Crowley proudly filled out his grip, and a glistening drop of pre-ejaculate beaded at the top. Aziraphale pressed his lips there and then parted them so that his tongue could steal the taste away. He continued to swipe his tongue over him, dragging longer and more deliberately until he couldn't stand his own teasing and engulfed Crowley into the whole of his mouth.

Aziraphale was no stranger to worship, though it did dawn on him that the sense of peace and belonging he felt here felt no lesser than he had ever experienced in Her light. To be understood and found worthy of the responsibility of guarding the willfully vulnerable; that he found this honor to be as rewarding to the flesh as to his spirit, and that Crowley knew and welcomed this, was more than he ever could have hoped for.

He took Crowley deep into his mouth, until he breached the back of his throat, and held him there as he carefully swallowed. Again, and again, with measured pauses in between where he massaged the shaft with the flat of his tongue. Crowley was now a heavy, hot weight, one that stretched his jaw wide. His cunt throbbed with envy. Though his eyes had closed while he worked, Aziraphale now opened them to see the fruit of his labor, flushed and prone against the cream sheets. A single, uncoordinated, instinctual jolt of his husband’s hips let Aziraphale know it was time to move along.

A parting kiss was bestowed to the crown before Aziraphale drew away and up. His breathing was heavy and slightly raspy, throat feeling overworked and wonderfully sore. Crowley had returned to stillness even as his skin flushed with latent desire and his cock gleamed primed and ready against his angular hip.

"Don't worry. I will take care of you," Aziraphale repeated his vow, quiet and solemn, before straddling Crowley's hips, positioning his cock, and sinking down.

Aziraphale gasped in startled rapture. The extent of his own desire shocked him with its intensity, just from how he held Crowley deep inside. His walls clamped down with jealous delight, and Aziraphale was helpless but to shake and tremble and weather the storm. He bowed forward and fisted one hand into the bedsheets while the other was drawn back to his clit, where it was worked over in tandem with tight circles. Aziraphale came with a whimper without rising or falling an inch.

"Thank you," he breathed, pelvic muscles still a tight vise and thighs still shaking. A strong aftershock made him squeeze and Crowley at last moaned quiet and pure. A sound Aziraphale echoed. "You are so good for me, my dear," he praised. "Let me be good to you."

He took several deep, grounding breaths, closed his eyes, and released. The pleasure of unfurling his wings was a different but no less appreciated relief. The added weight pressed him just so that he felt further impaled on Crowley. Hesitatingly, he beat them once, soft and slow, and his entire body flowed with the motion. Another clear moan. Aziraphale set his rhythm.

The forceful beat of his wings made Aziraphale ride Crowley at a merciless pace. His hips rose and fell, dragging him up and down so that his toes curled in pleasure. The first orgasm had left him drenched and more than ready to see him through a prolonged encounter. He wasn’t sure if he’d survive if the second were anywhere near as surprising as the first. Time would only tell.

Crowley was a sight to behold. True to his word and as a testament to his will, he remained deeply asleep, but the pleasure still found him there and drew from him mewling cries and thoughtless compliance in the rock of his hips.

“That’s right, my darling, I’m here for you. Let me please you,” Aziraphale begged. He was rising closer and closer to the edge again, and an unexpectedly brutal rise of Crowley’s hips brought him blissfully, perfectly deep. He leapt over the edge in a freefall. “Oh, Crowley, _Crowley—AH!”_

Orgasm this time was beyond his capability to withstand. His body was wracked with pleasure of seismic proportion, rooted so deep in his core his very essence shook with it. His wings arced wide and taut as he crested, and somewhere, in some distant space of Aziraphale’s awareness, he saw the very stars Crowley helped to create. And he wept.

Crowley’s head fell back, mouth slack and crying out when at last, finally, his body gave itself over to the pleasure and he came deep inside Aziraphale. His hips stuttered and sought to grind against Aziraphale’s body, and so the angel held him tightly and reveled in each wanton thrust, enduring and drawing out Crowley’s pleasure until he was satisfied, and then at rest. He panted in exhausted triumph, grinning broad and grateful at Crowley’s peaceful face. With a sniff, he dried his cheeks with that back of his hand.

“Oh, my love. Well done. I should have never doubted.” He kissed Crowley’s sternum, careful not to lean so far that his cock would slip out of where he was held safe and warm inside. And where he would remain, until Aziraphale came down from the giddy drunkenness of his adoration. Or until sunrise. Whichever came first.

As the searing heat between them dispersed into downy warmth, Aziraphale took it upon himself to cloak Crowley’s body in the mantle of his wings and the circle of his arms, to stave off the chill and to settle in until such the time that Crowley’s sleep came to an end. Guarded and secure. And so deeply, wholly loved.

* * *

A hint of angelic persuasion. “It’s time for you to wake up, Crowley.”

Jarring would be the kindest way to phase what Crowley awoke to. One moment he was so far within himself that the world as it stood was a mere figment of a question, to suddenly being fished out of the warm ocean depths and towards a blistering sun.

So when Crowley came to, he indeed _came, too_.

Buried in the angel’s heavenly cunt, Crowley spasmed and gasped like the fish out of water he was. Aziraphale moaned in a shocked refrain, bearing his full weight into Crowley’s hips. And the ache he felt bespoke of a thoroughly accepted invitation. He caught Aziraphale’s wide blue eyes in a disbelieving stare, and then broke out into unstoppable laughter.

Aziraphale, breathlessly, tried to make sense of the situation for him.

“Good morning,” he huffed.

“Best morning,” Crowley sang, “bless me.”

Aziraphale joined him in his joyfulness, and his laughter reminded Crowley’s oversensitive body of where they remained connected. He groaned, and did not miss the twinkle in Aziraphale’s eye before he reached down and began fingering his own sex.

“What are you doing?” Crowley asked incredulously.

“Well, you did say to bless you, and since you asked so nicely…”

Crowley didn’t let him continue his excuse and used all his mustered strength to flip him on his back, where he then smothered that bastard mouth with sloppy kisses. All he really managed for his trouble was muffled laughter and an over-wet chin, but he was willing to call this a draw. Or maybe he was still winning. It didn’t much matter.  
  
No one was keeping score anymore, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, and I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> I've also now drawn a bit from the last chapter [here.](https://twitter.com/SmutKeeper/status/1319274644508082183) :)


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